Chapter 3 No.3

The air by the pool was cooler, heavy with the scent of chlorine and night-blooming jasmine.

Bianca Sears stood perilously close to the edge of the water. She was laughing at something one of her sycophants had said, swaying on her heels. She was drunk. Sloppy.

Andria stopped a few feet away.

Blossom marched up behind her, her heels clicking aggressively on the stone tiles. She grabbed Andria's arm, her nails digging into Andria's flesh.

"Go get Bianca's shawl," she hissed, pointing to a bench on the other side of the pool. "She's shivering. It's a good chance to show Cato how thoughtful we are."

We. As if she would ever share the credit.

"Okay," Andria said meekly.

She pulled her arm free and walked toward Bianca. She didn't head for the shawl. She headed for the space directly behind Bianca.

Blossom followed, hovering like a vulture, ready to push Andria or scold her if she messed up.

Andria timed it perfectly.

As she passed Bianca, Andria stumbled. It was a small, calculated misstep. Her shoulder bumped into Bianca's arm. Not hard. Just enough.

"Oh!" Andria gasped.

Bianca's center of gravity shifted. She flailed, her arms pinwheeling.

"Help!" she shrieked.

Her hand shot out, grasping for anything to anchor her. Her fingers tangled in the tulle of Blossom's pink skirt.

Blossom's eyes went wide. She tried to pull back, but the momentum was already against her.

Splash.

The sound was enormous. Water sprayed up onto the deck, soaking Andria's velvet shoes.

"My dress!" Blossom screamed, surfacing and spitting out water. Her wig was askew, revealing the dark roots underneath. Her mascara was already running down her cheeks in black rivulets.

Bianca was thrashing next to her, clearly too intoxicated to swim properly.

Andria fell back onto the dry tiles, landing gracefully on her hip. She pressed her hands to her mouth. "Help! Someone help! They fell in!"

The commotion drew everyone's attention. The French doors flew open.

Cato burst onto the terrace. He saw the two women in the water. He didn't hesitate. He dove in, uniform and all.

He swam past Blossom.

He wrapped his arm around Bianca, pulling her against his chest. "I've got you," he said, his voice thick with panic. "I've got you, B."

Blossom was left paddling like a drowning dog. "Cato! Cato, help me!"

Cato looked annoyed. He had one arm around his beloved cousin-lover, and now he had to deal with the nuisance. He reached out his other hand and grabbed Blossom's wrist, dragging her toward the steps.

It was a pathetic tableau. The Duke, soaking wet, clutching his cousin intimately while dragging Andria's sister like a sack of potatoes.

Cameras flashed. The paparazzi had found their way to the hedges.

Click. Click. Click.

This photo would be on every front page by morning. The Duke's Wet Threesome.

Andria sat on the ground, trembling. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing two perfect tears to roll down her cheeks.

But inside, she was laughing.

She looked up.

On the balcony above, Prince Cameron lowered the binoculars he had been holding. Even from this distance, she could see the pallor of his skin. He looked like a ghost.

He turned to the man standing beside his wheelchair-his head of security, Mason. He said something, then looked back down at Andria.

Their eyes locked.

He didn't look concerned. He looked... amused.

He knew.

He had seen the stumble. He had seen the setup.

Andria didn't look away. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her head in a deep, respectful nod. A bow.

I see you seeing me.

Cameron's lips quirked upward. He raised a hand in a mock salute, then wheeled himself back into the shadows.

Down below, Cato hauled the women onto the deck. Blossom threw herself at him, shivering violently. "Oh, Cato, I was so scared!"

She buried her face in his wet chest, sobbing.

Bianca, meanwhile, refused to let go of Cato's hand. She glared at Blossom with pure malice.

The crowd murmured. The scandal was palpable.

Andria stood up and grabbed two towels from a nearby cart. She walked over and handed one to Cato, and one to Bianca.

She left Blossom shivering in the cold.

"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Andria asked Cato, her voice soft.

Cato looked at Andria. He looked at the dry, elegant woman in black velvet, then down at the soggy, hysterical mess clinging to his jacket.

Regret flashed in his eyes.

"I'm fine," he grunted.

Andria turned and walked away, leaving them to their mess.